


Without a Doubt

by Cryptographic_Delurk



Category: Otoyomegatari | The Bride's Stories
Genre: Bisexuality, Cooking, Domestic, F/F, Fluff, Food, Persia, Polyamory, Polygamy, Yuletide Treat, slice of life-y
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 09:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5452349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptographic_Delurk/pseuds/Cryptographic_Delurk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shirin insists on cooking. Anis wants to find out why. Love and the process of good food are discussed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without a Doubt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mithen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/gifts), [renquise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renquise/gifts).



> Sorry about the double-gifting of this treat guys! I saw mithen's prompt first - but you both submitted such amazingly similar requests, they kind of blended in my head after a while. I thought you both might be interested~ 
> 
> Happy holiday season to all! Read & Relax!

There were jars of water lined up by the entrance, and fruits and spices hanging from the ceiling. A fire had been started in the oven, and the countertops bore pots, lined up in preparation for heating.

All of it was new to Anis, who rarely ventured into the kitchens. Even in her childhood home, she had had servants to prepare her meals and bring her snacks. A mother’s milk was the only meal Anis had ever been expected to produce and, having succeeded in that, she had felt no inclination towards further culinary pursuits.

Shirin obviously felt differently, though. She was bent over the wooden table, wielding a carving knife. She was cutting a watermelon rind into small strips and, having collected enough of them, dropped them into a pot lined up beside her.

An aroma stirred in the room, as the watermelon rinds plopped down into the pot. It took Anis a moment to recognise the sour smell of vinegar.

“Shirin!” Anis began, announcing her presence. “I heard you had kicked Maafe and the other maids out of the kitchen.”

She meant to sound cross, but Anis couldn’t keep from smiling. She was pleased that Shirin had finally begun to feel comfortable enough in her new home to speak her mind and boss the servants around a little.

Anis could see Shirin startle at the sound of her voice, but her posture was poised and collected as she turned around.

“Oh, did they say that?” Shirin asked, leaning back against the counter and smiling at Anis.

“They were pretty miffed,” Anis replied, but Shirin was distracted.

She crossed the kitchen and swirled the contents of one of the pots next to the stove with her hand. Finding this satisfactory, she held her hand over the top of the oven, checking to see if the iron was warm enough, before moving the pot onto the stove.

The pot was large, and no doubt very heavy, but Shirin lifted it as if it weighed nothing. Anis watched in amazement, as the muscles in Shirin’s arms flexed as she lifted the pot. Anis’s attention intensified further, as Shirin’s robes rustled and stretched over her behind, when she bent down to stoke the fire.

Anis clasped her hands together. “You’re working so hard, Shirin,” Anis said. “Too hard… Maafe and the others can look after the kitchen and the children. Won’t you come walk with me in the gardens, instead?” she pleaded.

“I’m not working hard at all,” Shirin laughed, as she stood and brushed the ash off her robes. She crossed back over to the wooden table and resumed slicing the watermelon rinds, before gesturing for Anis to join her.

Anis stepped forward hesitantly, and fell into place at Shirin’s right shoulder.

Shirin smiled and leaned back into Anis as she came to a pause in her work, but volunteered nothing further.

“If you won’t go walking with me, can you at least tell me what you’re doing?” Anis prompted.

Shirin finished cutting the last of the watermelon rinds before speaking. She dumped them into the pot of vinegar, except for one, which she held up in her palm for Anis to see.

“Well, you already know I love watermelon,” Shirin explained. “Even before I moved in with you, I would purchase them at the market whenever I was able. The rinds are not very appetising – but we could afford to waste nothing. So, I would slice and pickle the rinds like this,” she said, waving to the cutting board. “Once the rinds have softened – it’s possible to drain them and make preserves with salt or sugar.”

Shirin shrugged.

“I used to do this all the time. But now I have watermelon nearly every day, and yet I never bother with the rinds. I suppose I felt guilty for my overindulgence,” she admitted.

“Oh, there’s nothing for you to feel bad about,” Anis said soothingly. “You’ve been through so much… there’s no shame in letting yourself be cared for.”

“No, there isn’t,” Shirin agreed. She reached over to the stove and stirred the contents of a small metal pot. Anis realised it was filled with hot wax, which Shirin spread around the rim of the vinegar jar. She then replaced the lid, sealing the watermelon rinds inside.

“But then I was thinking about all the dishes I’ve made over the years, and I realised how much I missed cooking – so I decided to make a whole meal.”

She took Anis’s hand and led her around the kitchen. “Roasted chicken,” Shirin explained, gesturing to the birds hanging in the pantry. “That will be good with some parsley. And I’ve sent to the market for some fish from The Gulf… I started making rice, too,” she said, nodding to the pot she’s just put on the stove. “Once the water boils, I’ll drain and steam the rice to make polo – with dill and dates, I think.”

Anis’s eyes lit up. “That’s with the crispy layer at the bottom right? Will you save that for me?” she asked.

“You have the taste of a child,” Shirin teased, but she smiled and nodded in affirmation before pointing to the next pot on the counter. “And I have pomegranate sauce started here – although I should probably take it off the fire before it burns.”

“Wow!” Anis looked between the dishes. “So extravagant!”

“Not really,” Shirin said, but as she heard her own words, she blushed. “I mean- having access to such ingredients is an extravagance, but this is barely enough to feed us all, considering my parents and the children and the servants.”

“That’s not true!” Anis protested. “You’ve done so much! You shouldn’t belittle your own work!”

Shirin gulped and nodded her acquiescence. She lifted the jar of watermelon rinds and set it in the darkness of the pantry, before returning with four chickens.

Anis watched as Shirin washed and gutted the birds, and then garnish and arrange them in the oven. It was a long time before Shirin spoke again.

“This is nothing… compared to what you have done for me…”

Anis was about to protest, because being able to help was its own reward. But before she got the chance, Shirin continued.

“You remind me of my first husband – just a little,” she said. “Not in every way, but he would tell me kind things like that too, every so often.” The rice water was boiling, and Shirin washed her hands in the basin on the floor, before going to drain the water. “This rice – sabzi polo – was his favourite,” she said.

Anis shuffled from one foot to the other.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “You don’t speak of your first husband often.”

Shirin nodded, and Anis was uncomfortably reminded that Shirin had never quite stopped mourning that loss.

Shirin mixed the dill into the rice, in preparation for steaming, but she suddenly realised she had forgotten about the pomegranate sauce. She rushed to the pot and stirred the contents with a wooden spoon.

Anis walked up to her side. She wasn’t sure but, judging by the smell, it had been saved from burning.

“So, since our husband has been so good to us, I thought I would try preparing food for him as well – as an expression of my love and gratitude… I want him to try my food and be content and happy.”

“How wonderful,” Anis smiled.

Shirin stirred the pot. Once. Twice. Thrice.

“That’s not quite true,” Shirin said, frowning. “You’re so talented. Your singing and your poetry and music…” Shirin blushed. “After you showed me how to play the tar, I wanted to share my own talent with you – even if it’s only a little thing. It wasn’t only our husband. It was _you_ that I wanted to have taste my food, and _your_ happiness that I wanted to create.”

Shirin was speaking so softly, Anis had to lean in close to hear her.

“But I guess that’s not possible,” Shirin sighed, “since you don’t eat. You only pick at your food, like a little bird.”

“Hey!” Anis protested, shoving at Shirin’s shoulder and laughing. “I’m not that bad. If that’s how you feel- If it’s your food- I promise to eat lots! In fact, you can cook for me every day!”

Shirin was laughing too, albeit much more softly.

“But only if you promise to let the maids help too!” Anis insisted. “So they don’t feel left out! …And you have to promise to make time for walks in the garden with me, too!”

Shirin nodded and lifted up her arm as a solemn vow. She whipped up her wooden spoon, and pomegranate sauce splattered over her nose and just above her lips.

And Anis, without thinking too much on it, leaned forward to lick the sauce off Shirin’s nose.

The pomegranates were tart, but delicious, and Anis didn’t pause before pressing her mouth over Shirin’s top lip and sucking on it softly.

Shirin’s lip was full and plump, and Anis nibbled on it for a minute, before darting her tongue out to run over the gums inside Shirin’s mouth.

She could feel Shirin leaning into her and clutching her arm with her hand, still holding the wooden spoon. And Anis remembered a time before this – before all of this – when it was just the uncertainty of visiting the public bathhouse for the first time. When she hadn’t known Shirin’s name or anything else about her, but had stood mesmerised by her lavish curves and soft skin anyhow.

And then Shirin pulled away, and Anis was left wanting.

“I have to finish this,” Shirin said, turning back to the pots on top of the oven, and stirring the pomegranate sauce abruptly. “We can continue this when we bathe together later tonig-.”

“I apologise,” Anis interrupted, turning away, feeling ashamed. “Was I too…? I can never tell what you’re thinking when I- If it’s just for my sake, please don’t go along with it anymore. Even if we can only be dear friends, I-”

“We’ll continue this later tonight,” Shirin repeated.

Anis felt a hand on her arm.

Shirin had left the pot on the stove, and slipped up behind her. She wrapped one arm around Anis’s waist, and snaked the other one down to press suggestively over her groin.

Anis felt her face burn.

“Don’t misunderstand, Anis,” Shirin said, easily. “Just because not everybody can match your boundless enthusiasm – it doesn’t mean I want this any less than you.”

She let go, and by the time Anis turned around, Shirin was facing the oven.

Shirin’s ears were flushed red. She was blushing, too.

“I have to finish cooking,” Shirin said. “But I’ll meet you in the bath after dinner.” She paused a moment and wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. “Without a doubt,” she promised.

 


End file.
